


Please...

by WordsAblaze



Series: Whumpskier [6]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Needs a Hug, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, Nilfgaard, Protective Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Soft Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Torture, Whumptober, no beta we die like jaskier doesn't, they're a convenient plot device okay?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:54:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26857771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WordsAblaze/pseuds/WordsAblaze
Summary: Fringilla uses her cruel tricks to try and make Jaskier spill his secrets but neither he nor Yennefer are willing to let her win... day six of whumptober.
Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: Whumpskier [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949428
Comments: 10
Kudos: 103





	Please...

**Author's Note:**

> couldn't resist throwing in some yennskier !!  
> today's pairing: yennefer/jaskier  
> prompts used: no more / please stop

“How are you resisting this?” Fringilla hisses.

Jaskier smirks at her. “The same way you’re not winning this.” 

She glares at him and before he can blink, a sharp headache attacks him. He groans, curling up as much as possible, his arms wrapped protectively around his head as if it were a physical attack. 

“We’ll see about that,” Fringilla says, but Jaskier can barely hear her. 

He hadn’t paid her enough attention and he’s almost entirely to blame for his current predicament; he probably shouldn’t have played for three days in the same tavern and he _definitely_ shouldn’t have gotten drunk. 

Overconfidence has never done him enough good to make up for being folded over himself in the corner of yet another dingy cell. Regardless, Yennefer’s going to kill him if he gives anything away and honestly, he’d support her decision. 

“Stupid bard,” Fringilla curses. 

Jaskier grins up at her, swallowing his grimace. “I may be stupid but you’re the one who’ll get in trouble for failing to provide results.”

It takes everything in him not to flinch at the absolute fury in her expression. Although he decides he prefers her fury when she smiles in a way that could perhaps have once been sweet if her eyes weren’t so cold. 

“You’re right, you may be stupid after all.” 

And then Jaskier is back in his father’s study as disappointment fills the room. 

Back in his Professor’s office as wood strikes skin.

Back in a Count’s bedroom after being told that his performance wasn’t enough on its own.

“Stop it,” Jaskier whispers, some part of him knowing he can’t be in all of those places at once, knowing that it can’t be as real as it feels.

But then he’s back on the mountain with Geralt telling him he’s nothing but a pain.

Back on another makeshift stage as he’s pelted with rotten fruit.

Back on cold hard ground as rain pours down on him and his bruised ribs. 

“Please,” he breathes, wrapping his arms around himself, trying to meet Fringilla’s gaze but being met only with an overwhelmingly loud darkness.

And then he’s back inside the small storage room his siblings had always pushed him into to get rid of his rambling.

Back inside his first girlfriend’s room as she very casually breaks his heart by telling him he’s too much to handle.

Back inside the inn where he’s broken his nose twice in three days just for defending witchers.

“Stop, please,” Jaskier whimpers, not even caring that he’s acting like an embarrassment because he can’t do this, he can’t experience all of these moments _again_.

The darkness clears just long enough for Fringilla to crouch in front of him, tilting his chin up with a sharp nail. “Tell me what I want to know.” 

He doesn’t want to do that.

“Not in a thousand lifetimes,” Jaskier bites out, throwing his head forward and grinning when she hisses, jerking backwards with one hand pressed to her nose. He can’t wait to tell Yennefer about that. 

But then he’s back in Rinde and he can’t breathe and he thinks there might be blood dribbling from his mouth and he can’t remember what talking even feels like.

And he’s back in Posada and the elves have just broken his lute and he wants to cry because that was everything to him and he can’t help feeling so awfully inadequate. 

And he’s back in Lettenhove and he hates it and he just wants to leave but there’s an enchantment on his door and he can’t go anywhere without being in so, so much pain.

“ _Stop_ it… no more, please,” Jaskier groans, squeezing his eyes shut and trying his hardest to think of anything he loves, of anyone he loves, but finding it impossible to even remember which doublets he’s worn the most. 

“Tell me what you know,” someone orders, and he flinches away from their sharp voice. He shakes his head regardless, breathing slowly, humming anything he can think of, wanting to just clear his mind.

But then he’s alone and he’s pretty sure he’s bleeding because he’s in a puddle but it hasn’t rained lately and gods, he really shouldn’t have tried to sing about sorceresses.

And then he’s tired and he’s almost certain he’s about to fall over but he can’t stop because otherwise he’ll be left behind and he doesn’t want to be abandoned again.

And then he’s cold and covered in snow and he knows his fingers are becoming more and more numb but he can’t move because the sky is empty and there’s nobody to hear him sob.

“Please- please stop, please... no- no more, _please_ ,” Jaskier moans, ignoring the feel of tears on his face and trying to recall the pleasant conversation he’d had with Yennefer only a few days back. 

But Fringilla doesn't stop.

His head feels as hollow as the inside of an instrument before he can think, being drummed on from all sides, filled with noise that he can’t translate into anything coherent, needing peace and quiet but being given only _chaos_ in every meaning of the term.

“Jaskier?”

He whimpers, pushing his head into his knees and starting to hum again, wanting and needing to drown out his past.

“Jaskier, listen to me!” 

He doesn’t want to. He won’t, he won’t give anything up, he won’t play into her hands, he won’t listen to anything, he won’t-

Yennefer kisses him.

His eyes fly open to find her powerful purple eyes looking right back at him, his hands in hers as she pulls back and offers him a smile that he knows almost nobody is privileged enough to see. “Are you with me, Jas?”

He nods.

Of course he is.

“Then let’s get you out of here,” she suggests in a way that makes it clear it’s not really a suggestion at all. And gods does he love her for it, for the way she’s so fiercely powerful but still capable of a fondness that never fails to make him smile. 

“I’m sorry,” he replies, his voice oddly hoarse.

She glances over him before shaking her head. “Save it for when you steal my lavender again.” 

He means to laugh but finds himself choking out a sob. Yennefer doesn’t comment on it, instead taking his hand and pulling him along with her, giving him the time he needs to pull himself out of the past and remind himself that he’s oh so loved.

**Author's Note:**

> and then they went back to an inn and discussed how ridiculous geralt's new armour is :))
> 
> thanks for reading! toss a kudos/coin? xx


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